Broken Arrow
by Bloodsong 13T
Summary: For the Dark Archer fans! Malcolm Merlyn is back in town and he sticks it to Oliver. (Get your mind out of the gutter!) SPOILERS for Season Two, first half.
1. Broken Arrow

**Broken Arrow**

_CONTENT:_

Rating: Mature

Flavor: Drama

Language: yes

Violence: yes

Nudity: none

Sex: none

Other: life-altering damage

Spoilers: Season Two, first half

_Author's Note:_

Loosely based on a dream I had, where I was some apprentice to the Dark Archer, and I was kicking Oliver's butt. (Sorry, Oliver.) I also want to thank Queencest Queen from LiveJournal for the seeds of alternate theories of Malcolm's focus Thea, in which he really doesn't have any interest in her, he just wants to screw with Moira.

Takes place in the Season Two mid-season break. AU, because of course this can't happen. This is also not related to my Green & Black AU.

Note: this is just a fragment of an idea exploration, not a whole story. I'll put up the second chapter in a couple of days, but beyond that... I got nothing.

===#===

* * *

**Broken Arrow**

===#===

_Warehouse 41_

This was the place Roy's note had indicated. How he got the red arrow into the alleyway while he was supposed to be laid up in bed with his injury was beyond Oliver. He'd better not have put Thea up to it. If Roy got her involved in all this, Oliver wouldn't hit him in the leg next time.

"It looks quiet," he reported to Diggle and Felicity. "I'm going in." He keyed the mic off.

Bow in hand, he padded through the darkened warehouse. Anonymous wooden crates towered overhead, interspersed here and there with industrial shelving units filled with smaller boxes and 50-pound sacks. Everything had a layer of dust; the very air smelled stale with disuse.

There was a light up ahead. Oliver skirted a palette of bricks and stacks of bundled reinforcement bars. Was someone using this place as a drug lab? Why had Roy's note sent him here? He rounded a corner and froze, a wave of deja vu sweeping over him. There, in a cleared space under the light was a single black arrow. Not lying there, but upright; shot into the concrete floor. The hairs on the back of Oliver's neck prickled. _Trap._

He melted back into the shadows, away from the light, putting his back to a stack of crates. He scanned the rafters overhead. It had to be the League of Assassins. Were they pissed off that he'd killed Merlyn? Looking for vengeance? It certainly didn't help that he and Sara had also killed a high-ranking member of the League.

He couldn't see anything past the light. He stepped back further, intending to extract himself from this snare before it closed about his neck, when something hit him like a freight train. He didn't think; he let his instincts loose and fought viciously. He could battle enhanced super soldiers, he could certainly handle any mere mortal.

It was one of the assassins; the black hood reminded him so much of Malcolm Merlyn and the defeats he had suffered at his hands. Oliver pushed his doubts aside. If the assassin had brought two more of his cohorts, he could be in big trouble, so he had to finish this quickly.

Recklessly, he dove at his opponent, heedless of his own safety or survival, going all-out for the kill, the way Merlyn had taught him. The assassin staggered back with a surprised grunt. The two men crashed into a pallet and bounced off, trying to gain the upper hand, to land a telling blow.

Oliver swung his bow like a club, anticipating his opponent's move to duck, and closed in to grapple. He hammered mercilessly at the assassin's ribs, looking for that weak point that would collapse him. The assassin twisted and struck a point on Oliver's neck, and instantly he felt a painful tingle race down his arm, leaching strength from it. An elbow cracked across his forehead, staggering him back, momentarily blinding him.

The assassin spun behind him and struck him in the kidneys. Oliver's back spasmed and the shock of pain dropped him to his knees on the hard concrete. An arm snaked around his throat, and he leaned into it, tucking his chin into the crook of the elbow to preserve his airway. The assassin wrapped his head up in a choke lock. Oliver reached back, clawing at him, trying to rake his eyes, his face. He only caught the edge of the hood. He could recall Merlyn's voice, on the rooftop, telling him it was over. He could hear Merlyn's voice now, only it was telling him, "Go ahead and struggle. You know it's useless."

Oliver's vision grew dim around the edges; his pulse pounded hard in his head. He scrabbled around on the floor - where was that black arrow?

"Not this time," the ghost of Merlyn's voice told him. The assassin shifted his grip, and darkness flooded Oliver's sight, the world shrinking away to a tiny distant point, and with it, his life.

He knew nothing, he felt nothing, as he hit the floor.

===#===

_"Did you kill him?"_

_..._

_"Did you kill my father?"_

_Tommy's voice came from somewhere in the blackness, pleading to know, dreading to hear, his voice layered with hope and fear and pain._

_"Did you kill him?"_

_Oliver wasn't sure what the right answer was. "No."_

_He remembered the relief he'd seen in his best friend's eyes, but all he himself could feel was cold dread._

===#===

The blackness receded from deep unrelenting black to a conscious darkness behind his eyelids. Oliver cracked his eyes open, revealing blurred images. He recognized the pool of sallow light in the warehouse; he felt the rough concrete floor under his chest and stomach. He was lying face down, his jacket gone, his hood as well of course, and his weapons.

Light and shadow separated further. He could see steel shelving, crates, the pallet. One shadow moved, pulled into focus and became the black boots and leggings of the assassin approaching.

Oliver stilled himself, his mind, body, and spirit. He drew a long, slow breath to gather himself in preparation of leaping to his feet and attacking. His eyes snapped open and he pushed off the floor - only to slam back down with a grunt of surprise and pain. He levered himself up on his arms to gather his legs under him before the assassin could strike... only his legs didn't cooperate. He couldn't feel his legs; he couldn't _move_ his legs, and he had to get away from that assassin. He scrambled away, clawing at the floor with his hands, his legs flopping uselessly.

With a supreme effort of will, Oliver stopped his mad panic. There was no way he was going to escape like this; he should face his attacker. He threw himself onto his left side, panting, and prepared to defend himself as best he could.

The assassin wasn't coming after him, only watching his struggles. His hood was off, and Oliver gaped up at the all-too-familiar face of Malcolm Merlyn, a sardonic smile curling one corner of his mouth.

Oliver blinked. How much of that rat poison did they dose him with? "You're dead," he told the apparition, uninterested in anything it had to tell him. "You're not real."

Merlyn smirked. "Wrong on both counts."

"I killed you," Oliver insisted. "I watched you die. You _can't_ be alive."

"Why not?" Merlyn turned one hand up in a casual shrug. "You are."

Oliver's chest twinged in reminder of the new scar he'd acquired. His heart thumped. If this were real, he had to keep Merlyn talking, distracted until the nerve pinch or whatever it was wore off, and he could get up and kick this son of a bitch's ass again. "Why didn't you just kill me?"

"When we last spoke, that was my plan," the man admitted easily. "I was furious with your mother. What she did to me-"

"You threatened to kill her," Oliver growled. "You threatened her children if she didn't do what you wanted."

"That's a lie!" A snarl creased Merlyn's face, followed closely by a wince of pain. Oliver must have hurt him worse than he was letting on. "I never would have harmed Thea, or you. I never threatened Moira! She worked with me, at every step of the way, in the Undertaking." His face flushed red with anger. "At every crossroad, at every juncture where I had my doubts, she assured me I was doing the right thing! I trusted her, and at the last minute, she betrayed me!"

Merlyn drew a deep breath, and that flash of pain crossed his face again. Oliver tried to remember how many ribs he'd cracked. He'd need every advantage when the fight resumed again. Was that the start of pins and needles in his legs? He couldn't tell; it was too faint.

"Yes," Merlyn continued, a bit more in control. "On the roof of Merlyn Tower, I wanted to kill you and Thea, everyone your mother loved. Even Walter. If you'd have had a family dog, I would have killed it, too." He took another calming breath and masked the twinge a bit better. "But I've had time to cool off and think things over. I don't want your mother dead." His eyes glittered as he looked down at Oliver. "I want her to suffer. Lethal injection was too good for her."

"You paid off the jurors."

"Now you're catching on."

"And the Count? Did you pay him to distract me?"

"Who?" Genuine confusion painted Merlyn's features.

"Count Vertigo. He said a powerful, rich man gave him the money to start producing drugs again."

Merlyn shrugged. "No. Wasn't me. You must be popular in certain circles."

That was a mystery for another day, then. Oliver tried to wiggle his toes. He still couldn't feel them. "What did you do to me?" he demanded to know.

"Oh, I thought that was obvious," Merlyn answered casually. "I severed your spine."

His body went ice cold. "No."

"Yes, Oliver. It's permanent."

"No!" His heart hammered. It couldn't be! Merlyn was lying, playing some kind of game!

"I'm sorry," the man went on with maddening casualness. "Of course being paralyzed means you can't even feel the cut."

Oliver reached around to feel over his back. There was nothing! Not a twinge, not an ache... but when he looked at his glove, it was slick with blood. He stared at it, his breath harsh in his own ears.

"Don't worry, you won't bleed out. It's just a small cut, really."

Hot rage flushed over him. "You bastard! I will kill you! Even if it's the last thing I do, I will see you in Hell!" His whole body shook with the force of his pounding heart.

Merlyn walked over to him and bent down. "I believe that's an idle threat."

With a snarl, Oliver lunged for him. Merlyn avoided his grasp by merely straightening up. Oliver lay panting. He didn't bother trying again; he'd only humiliate himself.

Merlyn turned away, unconcerned. "Now, I have your phone here." He took it out of his dark leather tunic and waggled it in Oliver's direction as he moved towards the shelving unit. "Once you crawl over here and get it, you can call for an ambulance." He set the phone on a shelf, conveniently within reach of anyone standing there. Yet out of reach of anyone lying on the floor. Oliver ground his teeth together.

Merlyn paced back towards him. "Of course, all your gear is here: your hood, your bow." He pulled Oliver's new compound bow off the top of a crate. "This is nice, by the way." He smirked at Oliver. "Bow envy?"

Oliver's lips pulled back from his teeth. Merlyn laughed lightly, and Oliver was vindictively glad to see him wince in pain again. He put the bow back down and went on. "They'll probably figure it out this time, that you really are the Vigilante. But that shouldn't matter, since your career as a vigilante is over." He continued pacing, circling Oliver. "And I really would like to see your mother's face when she realizes it was you that she shot, after you threatened to put an arrow through her."

"I didn't," Oliver said defensively.

"It's all right." Merlyn came up on his left. "Do you remember those thugs that kidnapped you and Tommy, a little while after you came back?" Visions of a man in a red skull mask entered Oliver's mind. A masked man with a taser that he used as an instrument of torture. "Your mother hired them."

"What?"

"Yes. I asked if Robert had told you anything about our group, about the Undertaking. Having you kidnapped and interrogated was her way of finding out for me."

"You're lying!"

"No, Oliver; it's true." Merlyn came and stood directly in front of him, looking down. "You have no idea what your mother is capable of. She is a stone cold bitch."

Why was Merlyn telling him all this? _You can't believe a word he says._ But right now Oliver hoped that last bit were true. He wouldn't mind seeing his mother deal with Merlyn with complete vindictiveness. No one messed with the Queen family.

Merlyn straightened, one hand surreptitiously pressed to his ribs. "I suppose you could always call your... friends, to come help you; make up some story about you crashing your bike again." His lips twisted in a wry grin. "That was good. You know, when I heard the news, I felt so badly for you: a young man in his prime, who had just survived a terrible ordeal, only to be nearly killed by a careless driver. And poor Moira, to nearly lose her son again. I actually hurt for her, a physical pang of sympathy." He shook his head. "If I'd only known then what I know now. I could have been proud to be that truck that put you in the hospital. I could have enjoyed your suffering. Oh, but I get to do that now, anyway." He smiled, showing his teeth.

Oliver longed to smash his fist into that damned, smirking face, and knock out a few of them. "I will end you, you bastard!"

"You can't do anything. You're finished."

"I will tell everyone you're alive, and that you're here. A lot of people want a piece of the monster who destroyed the Glades. The police will hunt you down!"

"Who are you going to tell?" Merlyn scoffed. "No one will believe you."

"I have friends in law enforcement."

"Do you? Oh, let me think. Do you mean your on-again, off-again girlfriend in the public defender's office? The one you stole from Tommy? Laurel, yes. How's that going, by the way?"

Oliver only ground his teeth some more.

Merlyn folded his arms. "Or are you referring to her father, the policeman? The one who hates you, Oliver Queen, for screwing his daughters - not just one, but both of them, and at the same time, too. One of whom was killed when you took her off on your little private cruise?"

"You did that," Oliver snarled, but Merlyn wasn't listening.

"Or the detective who hates you, the Vigilante? Oh, but he's not a detective any more, since he's stopped hunting you and actually started helping you. Yes, he has quite some pull there at his precinct these days. A failure and a traitor. I think his next demotion in rank is to 'unemployed.'"

"I won't give up," Oliver grated. "No matter what it takes, no matter how long." He could still shoot a bow. He could still see to putting an arrow through the bastard's black heart.

"No." Merlyn crouched down, his eyes like chips of ice. "This is how it's going to go. You're going to crawl back home, and your mother and half-sister are going to take care of you while you all work on making Queen mansion a little more wheelchair accessible. You can tell your mother anything, or everything if you want. But you try to go outside your family, you try to make waves or even spread crazy rumors about me, I'll come back. This time, I'll cut your spinal cord at the C6 vertebra. And then you'll be paralyzed from the neck down."

Oliver's stomach clenched in fear. "You won't get near me," he said, trying to put conviction in his voice.

Merlyn only smirked. "Please. I can walk into Queen mansion any time I like. Oh, granted, not through the front door these days." He straightened. "But I do know the layout of your home as well as I know my own. And those security guards Moira keeps hiring on? You should really tell her not to bother. It's just a waste of human life." He walked away, back towards the crates.

The cold of the floor was seeping into Oliver's bones - where he could feel it, at least. He clenched his fists and bowed his head. The Dark Archer had beaten him again. He prayed for a miracle to get him back on his feet.

_Get up._ Once more, he heard Tommy's voice. _You're going to get up, and you're going to fight this guy. Because that's what heroes do._

Not any more. _I can't._ Tommy's ghost had no reply.

"Well, Oliver? Your phone isn't going to get up and walk over to you," Merlyn goaded him, each taunt like a knife twisting in his back. "Of course, you're not going to get up and walk over to it, either. But I would like to see you try. I have to confess, it was rather amusing watching you try to stand up after you regained consciousness."

Molten rage banished any chill Oliver had been feeling. "Fuck you!" he screamed in impotent fury. "_Fuck you!_"

Merlyn just shook his head in mock pity, the smug son of a bitch. "You know, I normally don't take sadistic delight in taking down my enemies, but I think I can make an exception for the man who destroyed my dreams."

"Your dreams?" Oliver sneered. "Dreams of slaughter and destruction?"

"No, my dreams of making this city a better place. Look around you. Everything in this warehouse was slated to go into the rebuilding of the Glades. But now it is all going to waste. Because of you and your mother's interference, the Glades weren't wiped clean. There are broken pieces, like shards of bone. Not quite dead, but yet not alive. It's a gaping wound, festering with infection, and no one has the vision to burn it out, to cleanse the disease so it can heal properly."

The man was insane. Oliver rested his forehead on the concrete. Merlyn had snapped when his wife had been killed, and somehow through the years had managed to hide that fact with a facade of normalcy.

And now another thought worried at Oliver's mind. Merlyn kept urging him to call his friends and bring them here. It reeked of another trap. Worse, Oliver didn't know how long he'd been out of communication. Diggle might already be on his way. Oliver had to call him, to warn him off.

But the phone was so far away. And Oliver couldn't bring himself to give Merlyn what he wanted, a show of weakness and despair. He squeezed his eyes shut. _You have to warn Diggle. Are you going to let your most loyal friend die because of your selfish pride?_ God, he was still that spoiled little rich twat the island had chewed up and spit out. After being beaten and humiliated by Slade and Yao Fei, he couldn't do this one thing? What had he learned there?

No more. He'd learned to be strong so he'd never have to suffer being beaten down again.

His eyes burned. He shut them even tighter, denying tears. Another weakness he'd banished.

"Well?" Merlyn said again impatiently.

He didn't look up. "I won't give you the satisfaction."

"You really don't have much of a choice."

"Go to hell!"

Merlyn sighed in annoyance. "Fine. Just lie down and die. That will work just as well." He walked off. Oliver didn't see where. He could still be lurking, waiting for his little show. Hell, he could be planting C-4 charges.

Oliver raised his head and opened his eyes. The floor spread out before him like a vast desert, the shelves towered like an impenetrable fortress. And the seconds were ticking away, bringing Diggle closer to danger.

===_X_===


	2. Permanently Damaged

**Permanently Damaged**

_CONTENT:_

Rating: Mature

Flavor: Drama

Language: yes

Violence: no

Nudity: none

Sex: none

Other: life-altering damage

Spoilers: Season Two, first half

_Author's Note:_

This is all I have for this fragment of an idea. I know Moira and Thea's reactions aren't here. But this is all I've got! Really, I have too much on my plate to be messing with this. Apologies, but I hope it was entertaining, for what it is.

* * *

**Permanently Damaged**

===#===

_I can do this._ Oliver propped himself up on his arms. He was an archer; upper body strength was his specialty. The one-armed push-ups, the pull-ups, the salmon ladder... Hell, he could do a handstand and walk over there upside down. This was nothing. He started waddling on his hands towards his goal.

It wasn't so easy, he found, when his lower body was dead weight. Even push-ups relied on his legs to support him, and the salmon ladder used momentum from his whole body. Now his legs dragged on the floor, pulling his hips back. His shoulders tipped forward and got ahead of his hands. The faster he moved to try to keep up, the more off-balance he became.

Finally, he just fell on his face with a grunt.

Then he tried pulling himself from a more prone position. It was slower, but more effective. He could brace with his hands and forearms, push with his shoulders.

Panting and sweating as if he'd been running, he inched closer to the shelves. When he got there, he looked up. He couldn't see the phone from this angle, let alone reach it.

He sidled over to the supporting strut of the shelving unit. He climbed it hand over hand, bodily dragging himself up. With one arm wrapped around the strut, he reached for the phone. No, he still couldn't reach it. He grimaced. All the parkour he'd been doing since he got back into the city, and this was one of the hardest.

He gripped the edge of the shelf and hung from it. He shifted sideways, bit by bit, his lower legs trailing on the floor. His lead hand bumped the phone. He moved until he could hang securely by one hand, then grabbed it. His dead weight pulled him crooked, so he put the phone down on the lowest shelf. He intended to climb down, but that wasn't as easy as climbing up. His legs were twisted, his torso crooked and unsupported, and he fell awkwardly to the floor.

No big deal, just a slight loss of dignity. He turned on the phone and hit Diggle's speed dial.

"_Oliver! I'm on my way,_" his bodyguard answered without preamble.

"Stop," Oliver warned him. "Diggle, stop. Just right wherever you are, stop the car and pull over."

"_All right._"

There was a pause while Diggle presumably did as he asked. Oliver shoved himself around on the floor until he was half-propped against the boxes on the shelf. He gripped the leather of his pants and dragged his legs out straight. Well, straighter.

"_All right, I'm pulled over. What's going on? Where are you?_"

"It's a trap."

"_Well, can you get out of it by yourself?_"

Oliver looked towards the distant door, beyond the maze of boxes and crates. Well, eventually, he could make his way out.

"_Oliver?_"

"Just listen to me. And don't ask me if I'm crazy."

===#===

Diggle had gotten out of the car, put the phone in his left hand and his gun in his right, when Oliver convinced him the possibility of Malcolm Merlyn being alive was actually a viable scenario. They hadn't gone and double-checked that he was dead. They were sort of distracted by an earthquake. Diggle scanned the darkened skyline. A black arrow could come out of anywhere, with no warning.

He moved to the trunk of his car when Oliver started postulating boobytrap scenarios and telling him to stay away, to return to the club. To just wait until noon tomorrow before doing anything. Oliver hadn't answered his question of whether he could get out of this trap, but Diggle got the impression the answer was 'no.'

He shoved aside the car emergency kit in the trunk and opened his 'dire emergency' case. Right about now, he was wishing he had his military-issue battle armor and assault rifle. But no. He believed that working in the private sector should require nothing more than a handgun. Working with with the vigilante Arrow, and fighting people who could rip a half-ton centrifuge off its moorings, perhaps he should reconsider his stance.

But for now, the harness with extra ammo clips, flares, and a set of night-vision goggles would have to do.

"I'm coming in," he told Oliver, who started to protest. "No, listen to me. I know it's a trap; you made that perfectly clear. I _am_ coming in there to get you. Now you can tell me no, you can refuse to talk to me... or, you can actually increase both our chances for survival by giving me what intel you can, so I'm not stumbling in there blind."

Diggle got in the car and pulled the door closed with a decisive thump.

===#===

Eyes everywhere; head on a swivel. Danger could be anywhere: a pressure plate on the floor, a tripwire at ankle height, a sniper overhead. Adrenaline heightened Diggle's senses, kept his blood pumping as he stalked slowly through the warehouse. Just like walking point on a recon mission. Walking point with no backup.

He pulled another flare from his belt. Without looking at it, he struck off the head and threw it into the next intersection. His night-vision goggles were top grade; they filtered out bright sources of light, and enhanced every shadow.

"Crates, crates, crates," he described his location to the phone tucked into a clip holder on his harness. "Bricks on the northwest corner."

"_Straight._"

Diggle ignited another flare and tossed it in an arc to the top of the stacks to the left. So far, nothing had been revealed. No motion - not even a rat, which he would have shot first and asked questions later.

Now he could see the one light in the warehouse that was on, up ahead, rendered in a halo of bright green. But this was no time to rush. Another twenty feet, another flare went up, this time on the right. Then a T-junction, a left, and he was there, so close to rescuing his friend, and yet in the heart of the trap, closest to the bait. The most deadly part.

Diggle pushed the goggles up on his head and scanned the open space. Oliver was on the other side, slumped against some shelves. Diggle resisted the urge to focus on him and instead watched for danger overhead. "You all right?" he asked.

"Check the perimeter."

Diggle circled the edge of the open space, tossing out the last of the flares down every corridor that opened onto it.

Still nothing sprang out. The place was secure - at least as secure as it could be. Diggle turned back to Oliver, but didn't approach him. Why was he still just sitting there? He didn't appear to be tied, nor injured enough to keep him down. Was he sitting on a grenade or something?

"Are you all right?" Diggle repeated his question. "It's a straight shot out of here, already lit up. Unless you know a shortcut." It would be a relief having someone to watch his back on the way out. Especially since the flares would also make them easier targets. "Let's go."

"I can't."

Diggle looked back at him. "What's wrong?"

"I can't..." His mouth worked a moment, as if trying to form the words. "I can't move my legs."

Diggle looked around once more, then crossed to Oliver. He crouched down. "Is it your spine?"

"Yeah."

"Oliver, this is serious. we _need_ to call an ambulance." He overrode Oliver's protests. "The EMTs need to immobilize your spine to move you, so you don't do more damage to it. They have to get you into surgery as soon as-"

"Diggle, _no!_"

He stared at Oliver, at the mix of pain and rage on his face. "Look, I can hide your gear, we can make up a story. But if I try to move you, you could be permanently damaged."

"I _am_ permanently damaged!" Oliver snapped. "He didn't just kick me or knock me into something. He cut my spinal cord - he did it deliberately."

John Diggle was not one to swear, but in extreme cases, he made an exception. "Mother fucker." He looked down at Oliver again. "You're sure?" The young man nodded, not looking up. "And he left you alive." Diggle felt a chill. "Then why all this worry about him booby-trapping the place?"

"He wants my family to suffer. He... he wanted me to call my friends to come get me. He would kill you just to make my life hell."

"Well, he's not gonna while I'm standing close to you. Come on." He holstered his sidearm.

"Wait. Get my things." Oliver pointed to a pallet nearby. "They're over there."

The most expedient thing was for Oliver to put his jacket back on, then roll up the hood and tuck it inside. He put the quiver and bow on his back, and then Diggle lifted him up into a fireman's carry.

Through the maze of dark passages lit with hellish red light, Diggle carried his brother in arms to safety.

===#===

_Verdant Basement_

Felicity stood, chewing her fingernails, because she couldn't sit. She couldn't do anything useful, either, so she just hovered as Diggle worked with Oliver on their cover story. For it, Diggle had to get civilian clothes on Oliver. Felicity turned her back, not just for modesty, but because it was heartbreaking to watch.

"Make sure there's blood on the jacket, too," Oliver was saying, his voice eerily calm.

"I'm going to cut it off you when I give you first aid," Diggle replied. Then, "I don't think a motorcycle accident is going to work for this one."

"No, I think I'll get knifed in the alley out back. I can tell the police it was a hooded man in black."

"Always best to stick as close to the truth as possible."

In her rational mind, Felicity had to agree. The wounds would match, the police would be on the lookout for that maniac. Aloud she said, "Won't that be bad for your business? The night club, I mean." She couldn't help it; her brain always covered every angle.

"It will be a good excuse to beef up security," Oliver said decisively. "We'll have full camera coverage inside and out, and I can hire guards for the door. I want this place to be a fortress."

"Oh, good. That will make me feel much safer."

"You, Felicity, need to go home," Oliver said. "Go back to your own life, before I disrupted it. You can't be associated with me any more."

"Excuse me?" She turned around to gape at him. Oh, sure, part of her would be ecstatic to get out of that Executive Assistant position and go back to good ol' anonymous IT work. But as for the rest of it...! "What, just because I'm a girl?"

Oliver was slumped in one of the ergonomic chairs. Diggle straightened from tying his shoes and started to work on mutilating Oliver's poor suit jacket. Oliver looked somehow smaller, no longer the straight-shouldered man standing strong. His voice sounded the same, but she could see the difference in his eyes. "Merlyn only saw me and Diggle. He doesn't know about you."

"And of course he believes you two guys planted that trojan in his system by yourselves," she shot back sarcastically. "And has no idea that someone else was defusing his Markov device while you were all busy fighting on rooftops." She glared at him, and shot one at Diggle too while she was at it.

"It isn't safe for you to be near me," Oliver said. "I can't protect you."

"The safest place for me to be is near you, the only person - people - who actually believe that Malcolm Merlyn is still alive, and who has a fortress with souped-up security."

"Felicity, don't argue with me."

"Then stop saying stupid stuff like my cheap apartment with one security chain is safer than here, or that I should abandon you at a time when you need your friends the most!"

Oliver's head sank to his chest in defeat, and Felicity's heart went out to him.

After an awkward moment of silence, Diggle said, "All set." He draped Oliver's jacket and shirt over his arm and looked down. "You ready for your acting scene?"

"Let's get it over with," Oliver said, his voice subdued.

"Oliver," Felicity started, stopping them a moment. He looked up at her, his eyes dulled by his despair. She wanted to say something to him, something encouraging, something uplifting. She wanted to so desperately, but she didn't know what she could say. 'Everything will be all right' was just a bold-faced lie. Oliver would never walk again, never run through the streets or leap and climb rooftops while chasing criminals or saving people. And 'At least you're still alive' would only be cruel, since Merlyn had made sure to leave him that way as a sick joke.

A lump formed in her throat. She tried to be strong for Oliver, to force it down, to hold back her tears, but she couldn't. "I'll... be here for you," she managed to choke out.

"Thank you, Felicity." His voice was almost a whisper.

She turned away, because she couldn't bear to look into his eyes. Not a spark remained.

Diggle hoisted Oliver up with a grunt. "Felicity, can you get the door?"

She hurried to do so, not looking at them, not wanting to see Oliver redued to a thing, a piece of cargo, a limp rag doll. Diggle took him out into the dark night.

Felicity let the door thump shut before she broke down completely. She returned to her workstation and dug up a box of tissues. _Poor Oliver. After all he's suffered through. After all he's survived. Now this._

She put her glasses aside and stared unseeing at the computer screen. Tears refracted the screensaver's colours into dazzling patterns. The light and motion was soothing, but her heart still ached.

The basement had thick concrete walls. The sirens of the ambulance sounded distant, muffled. After an interminable time, they started up again and receded, bearing Oliver to the hospital where doctors wouldn't be able to do anything for him.

Felicity created a lot of mushy crumpled tissues. Eventually, her sobs quieted, and the silence of the basement descended, defined by the hum from the overhead lights. The oppressive stillness weighed on Felicity's mind, brought a chill to her skin. Oliver had said Malcolm Merlyn knew nothing about her, about who she was. But the man was out there, roaming at large. What if he had followed Oliver and Diggle back here, discovered their hidden lair?

The buzzing of the lights seemed to grow louder. No longer did the concrete walls seem so protective. They held her trapped within their confines; no one would hear her screams. She stood up awkwardly, her legs bumping the chair back. She scooped up her glasses and put them on. Her eyes darted as she looked around. So many dark shadowy corners.

She moved towards the stairs, hesitantly at first, then in a panicked rush. She had to get upstairs, amidst the crowd. Merlyn wouldn't dare show up there. Would he? No; no, he couldn't.

She reached the door, punched the code (one hand shielding the keypad from any potential spying eyes), shoved through it, and yanked it shut. She double- and triple-checked that it was secure.

The rest of the night she spent nursing a drink with her back to the wall.

===_X_===


	3. Not Safe

**Not Safe**

_CONTENT:_

Rating: Teen

Flavor: Drama

Language: no

Violence: no

Nudity: none

Sex: none

Other: none

Spoilers: Season Two, first half

_Author's Note:_

Yes, I was supposed to be working on other stuff, but... Moira had something to say to Diggle. Man... don't ever make that woman mad. :X

There will be ONE more chapter after this short interlude. Just one. And I mean it this time!

* * *

**Not Safe**

===#===

_Starling General Hospital_

"Mr. Diggle."

Moira Queen was not a woman who raised her voice. She wielded power with the ease and grace of someone born to it, like royalty. She did not raise her voice now, but Diggle heard the distinctly icy tone in it.

"Ma'am?" He turned to her, putting on his soldier's face. He knew this was going to be one mother of a chewing-out, and he wasn't wrong.

She strode across the hall to him. "Mr. Diggle, I hired you to do one thing - _one thing._" He tried not to back away from the hard glitter of anger in her eyes. "To protect my son!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"You're sorry? Is that all you have to say for yourself? My son is crippled, because you failed to do your job."

"But Oliver-"

"I do not want to hear your excuses!" John bit the inside of his lip until he tasted blood. He let her rail at him. "You should be used to his penchant for ditching you by now. You know how difficult he can be - you should have learned all his tricks and paid better attention to your job."

"Yes, ma'am," he said contritely, wishing she could see how much the attack on Oliver had truly hurt him. "I am sor-"

She cut him off with one finger raised like a sword. "I said I don't want to hear it. Mr. Diggle, you are fired. Not only that, but you can expect Damocles Security Agency to receive a call tomorrow morning, and I am going to tell them exactly what I think of your job performance."

John hung his head. It wasn't his fault, but she didn't know that; she couldn't know that, so he had to stand here and take this.

"I do not want to see you anywhere near my family again."

"Yes, ma'am. I understand perfectly, Mrs. Queen."

She fixed him with one last scathing glare, then dismissed his existence from her life. She returned to Oliver's hospital room.

Feeling awkward, John stood in the hall. He knew Oliver would want him close by, but there was no way he could go in there with Moira Queen in the room. As it was, he was going to have to check the next time he was in the bathroom, to make sure everything was still intact.

===#===

Oliver lay in the bed with his upper body elevated. He knew there was nothing the doctor's could do, he just wished he could skip this part and go home. Thea clung to his hand, her face crumpled in misery.

"Hey, come on, Speedy. It'll be okay." He tried to cheer her up, even though he knew it was all a lie. Merlyn was coming for his family. Oliver had to protect them.

"Don't call me that," Thea said, her voice breaking as tears spilled from her eyes. "I can't run around after you any more. This is all so... God, Ollie! Why did this happen to you?"

He clasped her hand between both of his. He squeezed to show her how strong he still was. "We'll get through this. I promise." She snuffled like a little child, and he tried to find some humor to stem her tears. "Come on, I'll get one of those motorized racing chair things... then you will have a lot of running to do to keep up."

She laughed, though it was partly choked by sobbing, and hugged him, burying her face against his chest. He stroked her back, her hair, trying to calm her. Thea's long ringlets fell across his neck and shoulder. They had always joked about her being the black sheep in the family, among the golden-haired Queen clan. But now it dredged up a fragment of Oliver's memory. Why had Merlyn called Thea his half-sister?

Moira entered the room with Dr. Lamb. It was time for the final prognosis, then. "Mr. Queen," the doctor said, nodding greetings to him and to Thea. "Your injuries are not serious - save, of course, the wound to your spine. There was no bone damage, and it didn't require any stitches. The skin should heal nicely." He shot a nervous glance towards Moira.

"What about restoring my son's mobility?" she asked him. Her voice was strong, demanding, but Oliver could hear a thickening of her words from suppressed emotion. "Is there any medical procedure, no matter how new, how complicated? We will try anything."

"I'm sorry," Dr. Lamb said half to her, and half to Oliver. "But there is no way to repair nerve damage of this kind."

"Well someone must know a way, a theory, a new breakthrough," Moira insisted. "Even if we have to go to Sweden-"

"Mom," Oliver said gently to spare the doctor the force of her desperation.

She looked at him, and the strength drained from her face. Her eyes flooded. "Oh, Oliver."

He reached out, and she came to embrace him.

"We'll get through this," she told him.

"I know," he lied. "I know we will."

===#===

Hasty preparations were made, interim solutions. The hospital rented them a standard wheelchair, and a private ambulance conveyed Oliver home. The servants had been busy moving a bed into one of the downstairs rooms. The nurses wheeled him through the front doors. The foyer never looked so tall, the staircases so steep. They got Oliver situated in his bed. Everything else could wait until tomorrow, just a few hours away.

Moira came to make sure he was settled before she turned in. Oliver had been thinking, long and hard. Merlyn had said to tell his mother or not, as if it didn't matter to him either way. He suspected that telling her, even part of it, would hurt his mother badly, and that's what Merlyn wanted. But he couldn't leave her in the dark. She had to know, she had to take steps to protect their family.

"Mom, I have to tell you something," he said. She turned from fussing over the items on his bedstand to focus her attention on him. "This wasn't a random attack," he explained slowly. "It was Malco-"

With a look of alarm, Moira put her fingertips on his mouth, stilling him. She gave a slight shake of her head and mouthed something to him. He frowned, confused, not understanding. She said it silently again, more slowly, enunciating the words so he could read her lips. _It's not safe._ She took her fingers from his lips and brushed his cheek. "We'll talk in the morning," she said. She bent to kiss his forehead, then smoothed the covers up over his chest. "Get some rest."

Oliver stared after her, dread settling in his stomach. _It's not safe._ What did that mean?

===_X_===


	4. The Serpent in the House

**The Serpent in the House**

_CONTENT:_

Rating: Mature

Flavor: Drama

Language: yes

Violence: yes

Nudity: none

Sex: none

Other: none

Spoilers: Season Two, first half

_Author's Note:_

Okay, yes, I confess, my Brain cannot resist evil, sadistic, unending, back-and-forth conflict. I'm going to stop this, any time now...

Special thanks to my mom, without whom I wouldn't know such details about guns.

* * *

**The Serpent in the House**

===#===

Oliver didn't think he would sleep, but his eyes drifted closed in the deep silence before the dawn. The dim glow of the nightlight melted into liquid crystal light under his eyelashes. Images, memories, played out across his mind. Recollections of being trapped, caged, tied... tortured while he was helpless. As he turned his mind from each memory, a new one moved in to take its place.

He dreamt of slogging knee-deep through quicksand as he tried to keep up with Slade, tried to escape the mercenaries hunting them. It came up around his thighs, and he struggled harder. There was Shado, up ahead. He had to get to her before they killed her. His legs felt encased in lead as the mire came up over his waist. He slowed; no matter how hard he tried to get there, he just moved more and more slowly. He couldn't save her.

Then he was on the roof of Merlyn Global again, his legs given out, his breath choked from his lungs. He grabbed the arrow. In desperation, he stabbed it through his chest. But where was the dark hooded figure? He twisted around, looked everywhere, but he was alone on the roof. He was bleeding, hurting, and it was all for nothing.

He grew weaker. Helpless. Then he saw the Dark Archer coming towards him with a slow, purposeful stride.

Oliver's eyes snapped open as he gasped in panic. He was in his own bed. No, the bed set up downstairs. But home. He was home. He relaxed, tried to slow his breathing.

A shadow moved at the foot of the bed; a figure coalesced out of the darkness. It was him, Malcolm Merlyn, dressed in black, another of those sardonic little smiles on his face. "Not sleeping well?"

The shock of fear made Oliver's heart hammer at the walls of his chest. His first instinct was to leap up, to attack. Only half of his body cooperated. He clawed at the air above him, at the side table, at the headboard. There was nothing to support his upper body, so he collapsed back on the pillow, panting.

Merlyn moved closer, alongside the bed, to where Oliver could see him. Oliver waited for him to come within reach. He'd put his hands around the bastard's throat and never let go. But that didn't happen.

"What are you doing here?" Oliver growled.

"Proving a point. When I left you, you didn't seem entirely convinced that I could carry out my threat to get to you, here in the sanctum of your own home."

Oliver's eyes flickered to the nightstand, where his phone lay. His mother and sister were in the house, asleep, helpless if Merlyn moved against them. He swallowed.

"Don't bother trying to call for help," Merlyn said, reading his glance.

"You made your point," Oliver said, hating to concede even that much. "You can leave."

"I'm not finished yet. I have a little assignment for you. Actually, it's an assignment I gave your mother, but she seems to be having trouble with it." He tucked his hands casually in the pockets of his leather jacket. "You need to help her explain the truth to Thea."

"What truth?" The sinking feeling in the pit of Oliver's stomach told him that he already knew.

"That she's my daughter."

Oliver winced. But he wouldn't believe it. He shook his head.

"There's no need to look so surprised," Merlyn told him coldly. "I know you dropped out of - how many? - colleges, but this is high school biology. You must know that two blonde parents can't produce a dark-haired child. And as you learned at the trial," he went on, pacing and lecturing like a teacher. "Your mother and I... well, things happened. Things that led to other things, that led to the birth of your baby sister. Well, half-sister."

Malcolm's eyes lost focus for a moment. "Come to think of it, Tommy's half-sister, too." His voice was soft, and a vulnerable expression crossed his face, but then he blinked and it was gone.

"What do you hope to gain from this?" Oliver asked, truly puzzled by these bizarre machinations.

"As my offspring, Thea has certain... birthrights." He shrugged offhandedly. "I intend to take Thea away with me. I have plans for her."

_Fat chance_, Oliver thought. _Thea hates your guts._

"It will be easier for Thea to hear it from her own family, people she trusts."

_And more painful, you sadistic son of a bitch._ Now Oliver had him figured out. "What if I refuse to cooperate?"

Merlyn gave another of those annoying shrugs as if he didn't care. "You'll just make things more difficult for Thea. But enough about that. I also wanted to have a discussion about your friends."

"There's nothing to discuss."

"Really? I was hoping you'd give me an opinion on which one you'd like to lose first."

Oliver's breath caught in his throat. This was too soon! They hadn't had time to fortify the club basement.

Merlyn went on smoothly. "But then, your mother did fire Mr. Diggle. So I guess that only leaves you with one."

Oliver bit his lip. _He's bluffing! He doesn't know anything about Felicity. Don't give anything away!_ "I don't know what you mean."

Merlyn folded his arms, one hand under them pressing his ribs. "Surely you remember who it was you were talking to on your comms that night."

_"Felicity, there's another device!"_

"A police liaison."

"A woman whose information you'd protect a lot better than that, if it weren't a complete fabrication."

"Your fight is with _me_," Oliver insisted. "Do what you want to me, but leave my friends and family out of it!"

"Oh, I'll do what I want to you, anyway. You're powerless to stop me. But I thought you'd like the opportunity to choose. You could have made a strategic decision by choosing Mr. Diggle. He is Special Forces, after all. You might think he stands a chance against me. It would have at least saved your helpless tech girl a while longer. Oh, well."

He reached for the phone on the nightstand. Oliver grabbed his arm, first with one hand, then both. Merlyn got his free hand over Oliver's and tried to twist out of his grip. The bones in Oliver's wrist ground together, but he refused to let go. His nails clawed into the leather sleeve.

They wrestled a moment, then Merlyn broke free with the phone. He stepped back, but Oliver's murderous glare could still reach him. Merlyn showed his teeth in a feral non-smile. "Now, you know how this game is played," he taunted. "I'm going to hide your phone, oh..., let's say in the kitchen. If you can get to it, you can call your friends and warn them."

_Enough of this shit!_ With a roar, Oliver launched himself out of the bed. His torso tipped down as gravity caught him. He landed heavily on his arms and pushed forward. His legs slithered out of the bed behind him and fell to the floor with a thump. He lunged at Merlyn, clawing his way across the room.

Merlyn danced back, smirking in unholy glee. He got the door open and darted out into the hall.

Oliver lunged again, hellbent on catching that bastard and beating the shit out of him. He thrust himself out through the door way like a breaching whale. He turned and flopped onto a body lying in the hall. There were two; they looked like bodyguards. His mother must have set that up. _A waste of human life_, Merlyn had called it.

He was down the hall, a tall silhouette backlit by the foyer light. He'd slowed, waiting for Oliver to pursue him.

Oliver clawed his way down the hall, dragging his body over the hardwood floor. His heart pounded as he pushed to move faster, _faster_, at every agonizingly slow inch. His fingernails scraped at the floor as he grabbed for purchase. His lungs pumped for breath.

Merlyn strolled backwards, dangling the phone carelessly from his hand as if he might drop it at any moment and have to stop to pick it up. As if Oliver would have any chance to catch him. He moved back into the embracing light of the foyer. His eyes glinted as he watched Oliver's struggles; his mouth twisted into a smirk. He stopped by the table, leaning on it as if bored and waiting.

Puffing like a raging bull, the edges of his vision pulsing red with the thumping of his heart, Oliver crawled hand over hand. It was like swimming through wet concrete. He gained the foyer. The floor was slick tile; his sweaty hands slipped on it, slowing him down even as he scrabbled faster.

Merlyn actually snickered at him. Oliver glanced up. Suddenly, Merlyn's eyes flicked upward towards the stairs. Shock erased his smug look for a split second before-

A shot rang out; one of the framed photographs on the table shattered; Merlyn hit the floor. Oliver instinctively threw himself aside at the noise. He saw his mother, underlit by the foyer lights, a dressing gown thrown on and a gun in her hands, aiming down over the banister. She pulled the trigger, but nothing happened.

_Gun jam_, Oliver's brain reported. "Jack the slide!" he yelled breathlessly as he rolled back onto his stomach.

Merlyn was gathering himself up. There was blood, but not a lot. Heedless of being in the line of fire, Oliver threw himself towards the man. He lunged and managed to grab Merlyn by the ankle. He yanked to keep the bastard down, and grappled for his legs. "Mom, _jack the slide!_"

Merlyn snarled and kicked. Oliver's nose crunched, but he refused to let go. He hung on doggedly, even as the Dark Archer's boot kept impacting with his skull.

===#===

Moira's hands shook badly, making it hard to aim. Oliver's words finally penetrated her panic. She stopped yanking at the trigger and turned the gun, fearing at any moment she would drop it. Robert had showed her how to use it, but that was so long ago. Clear the chamber. The thing opened like this... somehow...

"Mom?" Moira's head whipped around as Thea came down the hall, her face white and frightened. "What's going on? Who's shooting? Oh my God!"

"Thea, go back to your room!"

"There's bodies in the hall!" Thea's voice sharpened with panic. "I- What?"

Moira took a breath and poured every ounce of willpower into her voice. "Thea! For the sake of my life and yours, _get back in your room and lock the door!_"

Thea blanched, then ran back to her room like a frightened deer.

Moira got the slide to rack back and spit out the jammed casing. The slide shot back into place with a satisfying click. When she looked back down over the rail, Malcolm was gone and Oliver lay on the floor, face down, a pool of blood under his head.

She ran down the stairs. The gun was so heavy. She braced it with her left hand to help hold it up. She looked around, checking every shadow. Where was that snake? Invading her home at all hours, threatening her children!

She backed towards Oliver, keeping the gun up. "Oliver? Oliver, where'd he go?"

Oliver's only answer was a groan. At least he was alive. There was a draft; the front door stood slightly ajar. A few splats of blood led out.

Moira took a breath and rushed to the door, slammed it closed. She turned the locks. It would take more than that to keep Malcolm out, but they would have to do for now.

She hurried back to Oliver and crouched by his side. "Oliver? Sweetheart?" She put her left hand tentatively on his shoulder. Her right hand still clutched the gun. She wasn't ready to put it down just yet.

"I'm all right," Oliver groaned, his voice wet and nasal. Moira tried to get a look at the damage; his face looked as if a car had hit it. "Phone," he slurred, reaching shakily with one hand. "Need it."

There was his phone, on the floor. Moira reached over and grabbed it. She intended to dial 911, but Oliver took it from her. "Who is it you need to call?"

"My friends. He's after them." He punched a speed dial code and waited a moment for it to connect. "Felicity? Felicity, if you get this, you have to get out of there. Get somewhere safe... I don't know, commit a crime, get yourself locked in jail, anything." With a curse, he clicked off and redialled. "Diggle? Thank God. You have to get to Felicity; he's after her." He lowered the phone and looked at it. "Stay safe."

"I'm calling the police," Moira said, reaching for the phone.

"Can't..." Oliver lifted his head, turned to look at her with bruised and swollen eyes. "Police won't believe us."

"We have to tell them something," Moira insisted. "We'll say it was the same man who attacked you at the club, but we don't know who he is. They'll have to figure it out on their own."

Thea came down the stairs. "I called the police already," she said. "What is going on?"

Moira looked down at the revolver her daughter held. "What are you doing with that?" she demanded in shock.

"What are _you_ doing with _that?_" Thea shot back, glaring at the automatic. "Mom, what the hell? And what do the police need to figure out?" She looked between her mother and brother. "What are you two hiding?"

Moira glanced at Oliver. He looked back, and gave a slight nod. They turned to Thea.

===_X_===


End file.
